


Eye of the Needle (Alternate)

by ApostropheN



Series: Cavit Ro Voyager Alternate Retelling [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e07 Eye of the Needle, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApostropheN/pseuds/ApostropheN
Summary: Continuing the retelling of Captain Cavit and Commander Ro on USS Voyager. Voyager makes contact with a Romulan ship through a wormhole that leads back to the Alpha Quadrant, only to learn a temporal variance makes a return home impossible. In the Alpha Quadrant, a woman arrives on Deep Space Nine just before Voyager begins her mission in the Badlands, with a singular purpose in mind.Note: the "Major Character Death" warning applies to the original Starfleet crew from Canon Voyager (Janeway, Paris, Kim) having not survived the trip to the Alpha Quadrant, whereas instead Cavit, Stadi, Fitzgerald and Honigsberg survived.
Relationships: Cavit/Fitzgerald, Rollins/Durst
Series: Cavit Ro Voyager Alternate Retelling [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137725
Kudos: 1





	1. Teaser

To the woman arriving, stepping of the USS Nash and through the docking ring seemed like walking between worlds. She crossed from Starfleet silver and blue to Cardassian greens and grey-browns, from the Federation sense of caretaking and compassion to the oppressive and cold imposed order of the grey-skinned Cardassians. That the people greeting the passengers at the dock were also just as often in Bajoran uniforms just added the unreality of it all.

But she was _here_.

“Mira Carter?”

The woman turned. One of the Bajoran crew was smiling at her, a blue-eyed man with greying hair. “Yes?”

“Lieutenant Onara,” the man said, offering a hand. “Dr. Girani sent me when we heard the Nash was arriving early.”

She took his hand and shook. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you have a comfortable trip?” Onara said, gesturing down the hallway.

“I did,” she said. “My first time on a Sydney-class starship. One more for my shelf.”

“Shelf?”

“It’s a silly hobby,” Mira Carter said. “Some people collect rocks from planets they’ve visited, or flowers, or take photos.” She tilted her head. “Me…”

“You collect starships?” he said.

“Not literally, obviously,” Mira Carter said. “But yes. Any ship I’ve stepped foot on, I replicate a model, and add it to my collection.”

They entered the turbolift and Onara looked up. “Promenade,” he said. The lift began to move, taking them from the top of the docking pylon to the main ring of the station.

“How many Bajoran ships have you been on?” Onara said.

“Would you believe none?” she said.

“That will not stand.” The man turned to her, shaking his head. “I think we can fix that before you go.”

It was a kind offer. “Thank you.”

When the lift opened, Onara led the way again, bringing them to the largest, most open space on the station, a ring of activity and noise and light, where people mingled and spoke in a constant hum of motion.

“This way to the infirmary,” Onara said, taking her down to the main level of the promenade and around part of the curve.

Once they’d arrived, Onara brought her inside.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” she said, looking around the room, which still had the Cardassian architecture, but was clearly repurposed to heal, not harm.

“We’re lucky to have you. Welcome to Deep Space Nine,” Onara said.

Just inside the infirmary, a Bajoran woman approached, smiling at the sight of her.

“You must be Dr. Carter,” the woman said. “I’m Doctor Girani Semna. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mira said, a little thrown by the level of emotion the woman aimed her way. Both she and Onara seemed so genuinely glad to have her there.

“Your work on Orkett's disease has been _incredible_ ,” Doctor Girani said. “And I have a hundred questions about your plan to repair the genetic damage translated to the bone marrow of survivors’s children, but I’m guessing the only thing you’re ready for is something to eat.”

“I…” Mira Carter blinked in surprise. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’ve done the Casperia Prime to Bajor run before,” Doctor Girani said. “It’s a lovely place to have a conference, but I don’t know why they never take into account the difference in time zones. Somehow you end up missing two meals and getting no sleep.”

“Is everyone on Deep Space Nine this accommodating?” Mira said, letting a small laugh escape her.

“We like to think so.” It was a man’s voice, and it came from behind her. Mira turned, and saw two Starfleet officers had just arrived, one human with warm hazel-green eyes, one Trill with paler skin and beautiful bone structure, both in the blue-shouldered uniforms of medical or science personnel.

“You must be Dr. Carter,” the Trill woman said. “I’m sorry we weren’t at the dock to greet you.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled. “Doctor Girani sent Lieutenant Onara here to come get me. The Nash was a little early.”

“Well,” the human spoke again. “I’m Doctor Julian Bashir, and this is Lieutenant Jadzia Dax.”

“Do we have time to step away for something to eat?” Doctor Girani said, aiming the question at Doctor Bashir.

“Of course,” Doctor Bashir said. “I can man the fort.” He paused. “If you bring me back a scone, perhaps?”

The Trill, Dax, rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, before Julian ups the cost of playing the martyr.”

“Playing the martyr?” Julian blew out a breath, clearly enjoying the interplay between himself and the Trill. “I’ll have you know I was going to get a head start on the inventory of the final supplies for Voyager.”

Mira Carter glanced at him. “Voyager?”

“That’s right,” Dr. Bashir said.

Onara smiled. “Dr. Carter collects starships.”

Mira glanced down at the floor, hiding a small flush.

“Where do you keep them?” Dax said.

“On a shelf,” Onara said.

“Remind me not to tell you any more of my secrets,” Mira said.

“Let’s get her some food,” Doctor Girani said. “Voyager arrives in the morning. And if the leading scientist on Orkett's disease wants Voyager, I’ll wrap the ship up for her myself.”

Mira laughed, and the group headed off to the replimat, leaving Doctor Bashir at the infirmary.

On the way, she answered some of Dr. Girani’s most pressing questions, and learned that Lieutenant Onara was a rare survivor of the disease himself, and had a daughter who’d inherited some of the bone marrow issues, which went a long way to explain how warmly he’d greeted her, she realized. The Trill, Dax, asked incredibly intelligent questions about Carter’s proposed treatment—it kept Mira on her toes—and all the while, Mira smiled, nodded, and laughed along with them.

Still, most of her mind repeated one thought, over and over.

 _Voyager arrives in the morning_.

She’d spent the last four years of her life working for this, and she was _so_ close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another retelling where I'm taking a different part on the plot, given the whole plot of the episode is basically hinged on a single reveal. Instead, I'm going to bounce back and forth between the Alpha Quadrant just before Voyager's final mission to the Badlands, and back to the Delta Quadrant, where Voyager realizes their messages were likely never delivered. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy revisiting Deep Space Nine!


	2. Act I

“These are the messages.” Ro Laren held out an isolinear chip. 

The Romulan, Telek R’Mor, took it from her, stepped up onto the transporter pad, and then turned to face the four crew members gathered. “I wish you good luck on your journey.” The compassion in the man’s dark eyes took Ro by surprise. She’d never associated any Romulans with compassion before. 

It humbled. And given everything she knew, it also stung. She almost spoke, but clenched her jaw shut. 

“Thank you. Again,” Captain Cavit said, beside her. “Your daughter is very lucky to have you.”

The Romulan met Cavit's gaze with something so very close to gratitude Ro had to glance away.

“Energize,” Cavit said.

Chief Tamal initiated the beam-out. In front of them, Telek R’Mor vanished into the curtain of blue shimmering light. “His signal is in the pattern buffer,” Tamal said. “Transferring to the emitter array.”

Beside him, Ensign Lan took a moment with the secondary controls. “Phase variance is out of synch, as expected.”

“Compensating.” Tamal nodded. “And that’s it. He’s back on his ship, Captain. He made it.”

Cavit turned to the group. “Well, it wasn’t everything we hoped for, but it’ll be an extra layer of celebration for the party. We can tell the senior officers there, and let the department heads reach out to the rest of the crew. At least everyone back home will know we’re okay.”

Ro nodded at Tamal and Lan. “You two go ahead. I’ll lock everything down here.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Tamal said, clearly grateful. He and Lan left together, and Ro slid behind the transporter, starting the process of shifting the system into standby mode.

The moment the doors to the transporter room closed, Cavit spoke. She hadn’t noticed he hadn’t gone with them. 

“What is it?” he said. “You have the same look on your face you had when you recognized R’Mor’s uniform was out of date.” 

Ro frowned. “I’m not sure I like being that transparent.”

“Believe me, I get it.” Cavit said. “Fitzgerald says I have _a thing I do with my eyes_.” 

“You do,” Ro said. 

He did the thing with his eyes, meeting her gaze too evenly, too carefully. “Someone needs to tell me what it is,” he said. “And you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

Ro finished the final commands, and the displays reported the Transporter was in standby. “I didn’t want to say anything until after he left,” Ro said.

“Telek R’Mor?”

“Yes. I was double-checking he wasn’t still lying to us about who he was or what his mission was.” Ro said, a little embarrassed to admit she’d not trusted the man who’d turned out to be as kind as he had. “So, I checked our records for any mention of a Romulan scientist named Telek R'Mor.”

Cavit’s face fell. “And you found him.”

“Doctor Telek R'Mor died in 2367,” Ro said. 

Cavit closed his eyes. “Four years ago.”

Ro nodded. She didn’t need to spell the rest of it out. There was every chance their messages wouldn’t be delivered after all. 

Cavit took a shaky breath, opening his eyes. “It’s possible he made arrangements.”

“He could have given them to the Romulan Government,” Ro said, agreeing. 

Ro knew neither of them had convinced the other. 

“Do we tell the crew?” she said. 

He nodded. “We tell the crew. If you found him in the database, it’s only a matter of time before someone else thinks to go looking and does the same. Better it comes from us.”

Ro knew he was right. “I’m sorry, Captain. I thought about saying something, warning him or asking him to set up a contingency, but…”

“No, you did the right thing,” Cavit said. “One hundred percent. The timeline.”

“The timeline,” Ro echoed. The temporal phase had been the end of Honigsberg and Tamal’s machinations to get them back to the Alpha Quadrant using the transporter. The other side of the decaying, tiny wormhole Voyager had found was twenty years in the past. 

“Well,” Cavit said. “Let’s get to the holodeck. We can tell the senior staff there. Not the greatest gift for Rollins, but…” Cavit didn’t seem to have the right words for what he wanted to say. He looked at Ro, and seemed to will himself to shake off the darker mood. “You’re not going to tell me what I do with my eyes, are you?” 

“No, Captain,” she said. “But I will buy you a drink at the party.” 

*

“This is _remarkable_ ,” Bashir said, watching the simulation play out on the medical display. 

Mira Carter stood back, letting Bashir and Doctor Girani watch as her treatment went to work on repairing the damaged bone marrow. Girani pointed. “Look, it’s almost completely undone the myeloproliferative effect.” She shook her head. “I honestly didn’t imagine this strong a result.”

Bashir turned to Carter. “And you’ve gotten this result with eighty five percent of your samples?” 

She nodded. “And the other fifteen percent showed improvement, just not as much as you’re seeing here. Recovery rate in atypical results were closer to a thirty percent reduction in white blood cell production.”

“Which is still better than anything we’ve come up with, beyond transplants and transfusions,” Girani was shaking her head. “And the fibrosis?”

“Mostly reversed,” Mira said. “But certainly vastly improved.” 

Bashir watched the simulation a moment longer, then turned to her clapping his hands and then rubbing them together. “I have to ask, where did you get the inspiration for your treatment?”

Mira smiled. “A comprehensive search through bone marrow disorders and diseases born through similar conditions on about thirty inhabited planets.” 

“Thirty,” Bashir said.

“More or less.”

“Incredible,” Bashir said. “I can’t imagine the time and effort…” 

“There were thirty other syndromes like Orkett’s disease?” Girani said, turning. The Bajoran woman’s voice had deepened with a kind of angry sadness. 

“Unfortunately,” Mira said. Orkett’s disease had burned across the children of Bajor during the occupation in many of the forced labour camps. It was thought to be a unique eruption of a terrible combination of outbreak, terrible conditions, and the particular mix of pollution and contaminants the Bajoran populace had been exposed to.

Mira Carter, however, knew the Cardassions were by no means the only governing body willing to expose they considered lesser to wretched conditions in the name of their own good.

“Well,” Bashir said, perhaps catching the mood of the two women and wanting to turn it around. “The Bajoran Medical Association and Starfleet Medical have both given the okay to begin active treatment, and if you have no objection, Doctor Girani, I see no reason we should delay.” 

“I whole-heartedly agree,” Girani said. 

“How long will it take to treat all the first and second generation Bajorans currently living with Orkett’s?” Mira said.

“Two years,” Girani said. “And that’s with Starfleet’s help.”

Mira couldn’t hide the frown, despite her best efforts. “I wish I could have found a way to produce the revitalization agents at a faster growth rate.” 

“Doctor,” Bashir said. “What you’ve done here will not only save lives, it will improve the lives of literally tens of thousands of people, and their children and grandchildren to come.” 

Mira Carter nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, then took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m probably just tired.”

“We’ve been working all night,” Girani said. “I don’t want to chase you away. This is your moment. But if you want to get some rest, or freshen up, Doctor Bashir and I can handle setting the initial distribution plans into motion.”

“Absolutely,” Bashir said.

Mira Carter nodded. “I think I’d like that.” She looked around the room. “I wouldn’t be lying if I said I was a little tired of your infirmary.” 

“Get some sleep,” Bashir said, his voice dropping to a softer tone and calling her attention to just how handsome the man was. 

She shook her head. She was definitely tired and needed to pull herself together. Perhaps in another life, thoughts about the handsomeness of Doctor Bashir could be entertained. But not this life. 

“I will,” she said. “Good night. Or good morning. Wherever we’re at.”

The two doctors bid her farewell, and Mira Carter left the infirmary. 

In truth, what happened next was entirely a coincidence. She knew that, as much as she knew every piece of the bone marrow treatment she’d been working on for the last two years. But as Mira Carter left the infirmary, she glanced up through the windows of the promenade and saw an Intrepid-class starship as it approached the station.

Her breath caught, and she paused, leaning against one of the signs displaying all of the various businesses along the promenade.

Voyager had arrived at Deep Space Nine. 

“Here for Voyager?” 

Despite every part of her having focused on being prepared for the last four years, the man’s voice caught her completely off guard, and she whirled away from the sign, flinching and jumping. 

Lieutenant Onara raised a hand. “I’m so sorry, doctor. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She recovered quickly, forcing a laugh. “No, no. It was me. We were up all night, and I’m barely awake. I was… I was just going back to my quarters to try to get a nap in before the arrangements are made for the first batch…” She shook her head. 

Onara tilted his head, and she realized just how tired she was—and more importantly, how tired she _sounded_. Her voice had drawn out in a very particular way. 

“And now I’m rambling,” Mira said, regaining her composure somewhat. “I apologize. I’m sure you’ve got duties to attend do.”

“I actually came to offer you a short shuttle ride, if you’ve got time around ten-hundred,” he leaned in. “Bajoran shuttle, and I happen to be cleared to take a maintenance tour of the station, which includes a visual inspection of the upper pylons, where a certain ship will be docked.”

She bit her lip. It would be such an indulgence, and even perhaps a little dangerous, but…

“How about I swing by your quarters then,” he said. “That gives you a couple of hours to sleep first.”

“I…” She should refuse. She needed to refuse. “I would like that.” 

Onara nodded and walked off. 

Mira Carter put one foot in front of the other, all the way back to her quarters. Once she was inside, she allowed herself the briefest moment to close her eyes, allowing some of the grief to come to the surface, and even a short, silent sob. Then she wiped at her eyes, checked her reflection, waited until her breathing was once again even, and lay down to attempt at least a modicum of rest. Her hand went to her pendant, fingers cupping the simple, chunky weight of it.

Voyager was here.

Voyager was _here_.

It had cost her so much, and could still cost her so much more. 

A few more days. Just a few more days.

Sleep came for Mira Carter, and she surrendered gratefully.

*

_ To: Cavit, Hope C. (Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 53201-UPC; CH-902-8989-OCC/R) _

_ Sender: Cavit, Aaron S. (SJ-198-1135-OCC) _

_ Dear mom; _

_ I’m sure Starfleet has told you a lot of technical things about what happened to us and where we are, but I wanted to put down in writing the most important part right up front: I’m fine. I’m pretty far away, and I’m going to do everything I can to get everyone home, but I’m fine.  _

_ I’m also going to miss your first birthday without dad, and for that I’m truly sorry. I know it was going to just be the two of us, a trip to the cabin, a simple meal, and some music, but do me a favor and get some friends together and make an evening of it without me. Fill the cabin with people who love you. I don’t want you celebrating alone. We’re Cavits. As you would be the first to point out, we’ve never done alone very well. _

_ There is, speaking of your birthday, something for you stored in my apartment. It’s not wrapped yet, and there’s no card, but I hope you’ll forgive all those shortcomings and enjoy it anyway. It’s on the top shelf in the bedroom closet. When I saw it in a stall on Starbase 375, it reminded me of you, and one of the stories you told me of your time on the Cairo, before you met dad. I know you’ll know which story when you see it. _

_ Come to think of it, I think you should invite the other retired Cairo officers to your birthday party. Turn it into a mini-reunion as well as a party. Dad would have liked that, even if he would have grumbled about officers never doing real work and how he and the rest of the enlisted were the ones who really kept things going in Starfleet. _

_ Can you imagine what he’d say if he heard I was in command of over a hundred and fifty crew? I could do with a good dressing down from him right now, followed by a reminder from you about what really matters when it comes to leading people. Then again, I know he’d tell me to remember the crew are people, and that matters the most, and you’d tell me to lead by example and principle in all things.  _

_ There was a moment, mom, where I had to choose. Where it was me, and only me, deciding for everyone else, and in that moment, I was trying to imagine what everyone else would do—especially Captain Janeway—and then I heard your voice telling me what anyone else would or wouldn’t do didn’t matter: it was what I was going to decide that mattered in that moment.  _

_ I don’t know if I ever thanked either of you for how often you’ve offered guidance or advice, so I’m doing it now. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, mom. You were with me in that moment when I needed you most. _

_ Keep the cabin warm. When I get back, there’s a good chance I have someone I want to invite there again. _

_ Aaron. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting at the end of where the original Voyager 'Eye of the Needle' episode ended, since the whole reveal would be rather pointless in a retelling, and moving forward from there. Thus this opening scene. I also thought it might be a nice throwback to have Ro be the one who realized about the time-shift, but because of uniforms rather than science (what with her and Geordi having had some up-close-and-personal time with the Romulans).
> 
> Writing the letters felt like a great way to deep-dive into some of the characters, and I always thought it would have made a great future Voyager episode to have had someone get hold of them, so I'm playing with at least the first half of that with my alternate Cavit-and-Ro version.


	3. Act II

Honigsberg slid onto one of the stools that lined the long wooden bar running the length of one entire side of the Stonewall Inn and kept his eye on the door. Behind the bar, a Ktarian waiter in a particularly revealing sleeveless shirt made up more-or-less of strips of blue cloth was chatting with Rollins and Durst, both of whom laughed at whatever he said. Rollins even blushed, which made Honigsberg smother a small smile of his own.

It was nice to see Rollins loosening up a bit. He wondered how much of Rollins’s spit-and-polish was about being suddenly placed in his senior position, and how much was just his personality.

He certainly had a nice smile when he let it out.

“This is a great program, Alex,” Fitzgerald said, taking the stool beside him. The doctor looked up at the series of flags lining the top of the wall behind the bar. “But I have to say, I don’t recognize any of those countries. Isn’t this supposed to be the twentieth century?”

“You don’t recognize them because they’re not countries.” Honigsberg turned to face him. “They’re called Pride flags. Definitely twentieth century. Have you never been to the real place?”

“In New York?” Fitzgerald said. He shook his head. “I always meant to every time there was a medical conference there, but somehow I never managed to get around to it.” He pointed. “What’s that one, with the yellow on top and the black and purple and white?”

Honigsberg winced. “I don’t know. I know that one,” he said pointing to a rainbow flag. “That was the flag that started it all, at a rights march, and that one there that’s all the shades of red was specifically about women.”

“Yellow, white, purple and black is nonbinary pride.” The Ktarian bartender strolled over to them, shaking his head, and tapping the flag in question.

“Thank you,” Fitzgerald said. He eyed another, with three bands: blue, purple, and pink. “Bisexual?” he said.

“Okay, you’re not completely hopeless.” The bartender looked at them in an openly appraising manner, then pointed at Fitzgerald. “I’m going to say the handsome man with the steely blue eyes here is a gin and tonic,” he said. Then, aiming his finger at Honigsberg. “And my favourite Otter Alex looks like he’s in the mood for a beer.”

“Correct, as always, Z,” Honigsberg said.

“That would be good.” Fitzgerald raised an eyebrow. “And honestly, that’s a little uncanny.”

The Ktarian leaned on the counter, and aimed a particularly welcoming smile Fitzgerald’s way. “I’m good at reading people.” The horizontal pupils of his cat-like eyes narrowed at the colour of Fitzgerald’s uniform. “Science or Medical?”

“He’s our ship’s doctor, Z,” Honigsberg said.

“I would have guessed,” the bartender said, turning to prepare a gin and tonic. He turned, handing the drink to Fitzgerald. “You’ve got the hands for it.”

Fitzgerald’s smile faltered, and Honigsberg winced. The bartender was programmed to flirt the way the real Ktarian bartender had, and it was just a coincidence the program had mentioned hands, but still.

“Thanks for the drink,” Fitzgerald said.

The hologram of the Ktarian bartender, seeming to understand he’d misstepped, looked down and noticed the neural assistance bands and rings around Fitzgerald’s left hand. “On the house,” he said, in a less flirty voice.

The door to the Inn opened, and Commander Ro and Captain Cavit finally joined them.

“Ooh, Alex, who is _she_?” The holographic bartender said.

“Y’know, Ziman, I’m still waiting on my beer,” Honigsberg said, ignoring his question.

The bartender uncapped a bottle, then dangled it just out of reach when Honigsberg reached for it. “You’ll introduce me later?”

“For sure,” Honigsberg said. “Though I’m pretty sure Commander Ro would eat you alive.”

“Be still my pansexual heart,” the man said, finally handing the bottle to Honigsberg. “There is nothing like a Bajoran woman.” 

“Did you program him?” Fitzgerald said, once the bartender had moved on to where Lan and Tamal were waiting for him, further down the bar.

“I didn’t program any of this. I’ve had this file for a few years. It was a gift from a friend.” He raised his bottle, and tapped it to Fitzgerald’s glass. “Sorry about his line.”

“It wasn’t a bad line,” Fitzgerald said, clinking. “It wasn’t a good line, but it wasn’t bad.” Then he looked around the room. “Looks like all the senior staff are here, and then some.”

“Do you think it’s still a surprise?” Honigsberg said. He watched Rollins and Durst chatting with Lan, who had a glass of water now. Rollins didn’t look nervous, but then, he didn’t know Rollins very well.

“Rollins, you mean?” Fitzgerald said.

“He’s your roommate. You’d know.”

Fitzgerald took a short glance in Rollins’s direction. “He doesn’t look nervous at all, so he hasn’t got a clue.” Then he paused. “Why did the bartender call you an otter?”

*

Finding a routine on Deep Space Nine came easier than she thought it might, and while every morning Mira Carter couldn’t help but look up during her walk along the Promenade to see Voyager docked above her, she was starting to feel the faintest hope in possibility.

The latest batch of her treatment for Orkett’s disease was underway. That each treatment had to be tailored to the genetic profile of the individual in question was part of what made her results so positive, but it was also what made progress feel glacial.

Still, as she called up the diagnostic in the infirmary and saw all twenty four samples were in the green, she smiled to herself.

“How are the latest children doing?” Bashir said, coming to stand beside her.

“No unruly ones this time,” she said. In the previous batch, two of the treatments had developed a recurring deficit in their growth, and she’d had to reset the samples and start from scratch. It happened, but every time it felt like losing some ground to time.

To potentially not be saving someone’s life.

“Do you have plans for lunch today?” Bashir asked.

“Lieutenant Onara suggested a meal at Quark’s,” Mira said, knowing she shouldn’t allow the man’s flirtations to be anything she took notice of. And yet she still added, “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” He nodded, and stepped away, his wonderful smile full of promise.

She shook her head and turned back to the displays, mildly annoyed at herself.

“Don’t,” she said to herself, barely above a breath.

“If it helps, he’s genuinely harmless,” Doctor Girani said.

Mira turned, eyes widening, and Girani held up one hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just coming to say I’m ready to take over. Your lunch date for _today_ is here.” She said the last with a warm smile.

There was no “date” happening with Lieutenant Onara, who was happily married and a father.

“Thank you,” Mira said, and rose from her chair, stretching. “No recurring deficits today.”

“A perfect batch?” Girani eyed the displays. “Well. I’ll be perfectly content to be bored, then.”

Mira patted her shoulder, picked up the small bag she’d brought in with her and slung it over her shoulder, leaving the infirmary and finding Lieutenant Onara waiting for her outside.

They found Quark’s, and though the ground floor was a bit loud for her tastes, the upper level was quieter, and the waiter brought them both a Bajoran dish, a lovely, earthy-smelling soup.

“Katterpod,” Onara said, when she asked him what it was called. “Dip the mapa bread. Trust me.” He tore a piece of his own bread off and did just that, and she followed suit.

The soup was lovely, warm and filling, but he was right—the spiciness in the bread really brought out the best of both.

“That is delicious,” she said.

“I have something for you,” he said. “And I hope it’s not presumptuous.”

She blinked, unsure, but he lifted a small gift bag he’d brought with him and put it on the table. She took it slowly, putting a smile in place before reaching in and pulling out a small model of the Bajoran shuttle they’d ridden in her first day on the station.

“Thank you,” she said, touched. “It’s lovely.”

“I don’t know if you have a particular scale you hold to or not,” he said. “Or if you prefer them colour-perfect or monochromatic, but this one’s a direct copy of the shuttle we used.”

“This is wonderful.” Mira turned the little model over in her hands, eyeing the detail. “Thank you.”

“What was your first ship?” he said.

She dipped and ate more of the soup and bread, chewing to give herself time. When she swallowed, she said, “it was a science vessel, and it was my father’s ship.”

“Your father was a scientist,” Onara said.

“Yes,” she said. “Often on deep space missions.” She smiled at a memory, then shook her head. “It’s how I got started. I had a little version of his ship on my shelf in my bedroom as a child, and it was my way of having him home with me.”

“That’s lovely,” Onara said. He paused. “I wonder if I should have a model of DS9 sent back to Bajor.”

“Your daughter doesn’t live on board?”

Onara shook his head. “My wife and my daughter live on Bajor. My wife is a teacher, and my daughter is…” He tilted his head. “Old enough to believe she can do whatever she likes, and young enough to get into too much trouble in a place like this.”

“Ah,” Mira said.

“You’re not married?” he said.

“Only to my work.” She took another bite of the dipped bread. “Which makes me sound rather pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“You are young, intelligent, and talented,” Onara said. “I’m sure you can make whatever you’d like a priority, whenever you’d like to do it.”

Mira smiled, then caught sight of a Starfleet officer in operations gold on the ground floor of the bar. He was sitting with a group of other officers in the same department colours, and they had PADDs out on the table, talking.

Was that one of them? It could be. The man’s short beard seemed right.

She could check her bag.

Onara turned to follow her gaze. “Someone you know?”

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head and drawing her attention back to him. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”

Onara looked, then turned back to her. “I think he’s the chief engineer of Voyager. They’re doing some final upgrades after their shakedown.”

It _was_ him. Alexander Honigsberg.

She forced herself to break off another piece of bread. To dip it. To bite, and chew, and swallow. “Do you know him?”

Onara shook his head. “Odo said we could expect their crew to come and go quite a bit while they’re here—last minute personnel arriving, the upgrades, that sort of thing, but I haven’t met any of them personally.” He smiled. “Trying to get aboard?”

She shook her head. “I’m not _that_ optimistic.”

“Probably for the best,” Onara said.

She took her last bite of the bread, and noticed Onara had already finished his, as well.

“Sorry, I’ve kept you,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not at all. Let me walk you back to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine,” she said, rising. “Really.” She picked up her small bag, and the model of the Bajoran shuttle. She raised it. “Thank you again for this.”

“You’re very welcome.”

She took her time, crossing to the stairs and letting Onara get ahead of her, returning his wave when he turned to give her one. Then she took a deep breath, and reached into her bag with one hand, feeling for something and trying not to react when her fingers finally closed around the small item.

Mira stuck to the back wall, crossing the distance carefully. She’d almost made it to the table where the Voyager crew were sitting and talking when the large figure stepped out in front of her, grabbed her arm, and squeezed hard enough to hurt.

“Don’t move or make noise, and I won’t hurt you,” the figure said, in a dark, cold voice.

Mira twisted, sunk her elbow into the man’s stomach, and kicked back at his foot as hard as she could. He cursed, snatched the bag from her arm, and shoved her, hard. She fell backwards against the wall, and slid down to the ground with a grunt.

“Hey! Get away from her!” someone cried from one of the tables.

The man bolted, her bag in his hand.

“Security!” someone else called.

One of the gold-uniformed officers from the table came over, kneeling at her side. “Are you hurt?” he said. It wasn’t Honigsberg, but a young Vulcan. She looked over and saw the others were all standing, and Honigsberg was speaking, his head titled slightly in the way she’d noticed Starfleet Officers did when they used their commbadges.

“I’m… I’m not hurt.” Mira Carter clenched the little replica of the Bajoran shuttle and tried to see where the dark voiced man had gone, but it was too late. He—and her bag—were gone.

*

_To: Picard, Jean-Luc. (SP-937-0215-OCC)_

_Sender: Ro, Laren (FM-995-2340-OCC/P)_

_Captain;_

_I’ve written and deleted this letter about a dozen times already, trying to be clear and concise and professional and all the other things I always strived to be around you, and at this point, we’re running low on time before our window to the Alpha Quadrant closes, so this letter will be my rushed, final attempt. Even worse? I’ve just found out there’s every chance you might never get this and I’m still struggling. But, here it is, as simply and as bluntly as I can say it._

_I’m sorry._

_I could qualify that statement a dozen different ways, and I did in those other versions of this letter, but the reason I deleted them was they never felt honest and I want to be honest with you, Captain. And the truth is, I made a choice I still stand by, but the only part of that choice I’ve ever regretted was knowing what it did to the level of trust you’d placed in me._

_When we first arrived in the Delta Quadrant, it honestly felt like everything I’d been trying to do with my life had just had all meaning removed from it. But later, when Commander Cavit invited my crew on board Voyager, he told me that you’d left a note in my file. You weren’t the only one. Commander Riker, Geordi, Counsellor Troi? They all asked for the opportunity to speak on my behalf if the opportunity arose in the future, but it was your words, Captain, that Commander Cavit saw when he looked at my file and asked me to be his first officer._

A truly unbendable desire for justice, and an unimpeachable moral centre.

_It sounds like someone else when I say those words out loud. You’ve always had a way of seeing me I’m not sure I ever had of myself. I don’t know if I can live up to those words, or any of the words any of you left in my file. I count myself lucky to have met you, and for ever having earned your faith, even if I damaged it beyond repair._

_I once told you I was always up for an interesting challenge, and I meant it. But this challenge feels more than interesting._

_It feels imperative._

_As much for you as for me, I will try._

_Laren._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon Voyager has Sandrine's, my Voyager has Stonewall.


	4. Act III

“Excuse me!” The sequinned performer said, stepping up onto the makeshift stage erected at the furthest end of the Inn. Her dress shimmered in blues and silvers, and her hair, done with twists of bright blue that glowed and dimmed in turn, seemed to defy gravity itself.

Stadi wondered how the effect had been created. Was it entirely holographic, or was there some practical version of this in the real world. She leaned over to Commander Ro. “How do you think she does the hair?”

Ro shook her head, clearly without an answer. Stadi had to fight off a small smile. Ro was doing a decent job of it, but it didn’t take a telepath to sense the Bajoran would rather be pretty much anywhere else but at a party, never mind a party as loud and as colourful as this one.

For her part, Stadi was having a great time.

“That’s Drag Queen for _shut up and pay attention_!” the performer said, louder this time.

The room turned to face the drag queen, almost as one. Conversations murmured off.

“Well done!” She posed, raising one hand into the air. “I have to say, I do love having Starfleet officers at the Inn, because they know the golden rule: you do _not_ ignore Cora Breach.” She flipped her wrist, and a fan decorated with the Starfleet chevron snapped into being. She waved it at her face while the audience laughed and clapped.

“Now,” Cora said, holding the fan above her eyes as if to shield them from a sudden glare. “I’m told we have a guest of honour this evening? I’m looking for a particularly clever security officer, I’m told. One Ensign Scotty Rollins?”

Stadi, like everyone else, turned to watch Rollins, and quite a show rolled out on on the poor man’s face. Rollins frowned, glancing first at Durst, who he’d arrived with, and then at a few of the other officers around him. The dawning realization that something was happening wasn’t too long in coming, but it left the man’s expression somewhere between excitement and embarrassment.

“He’s right here,” Durst said, pointing.

“Oh my!” Cora Breech enthused. “I’m going to need to call security up here, everyone. There are quite a few regulations I’m considering _breaking_.”

Shaking his head, and with a few nudges from Honigsberg and Durst, Rollins made his way through the crowd of real and holographic people to the stage, and Cora Breach waved her fan all the faster.

“Cora’s temperature is rising,” the performer said, wagging her eyebrows. Her hair brightened a few extra shades. “I may have to vent.”

As she spoke, she reached into the front of her shimmering, sequinned gown, and pulled out a tiny black box from between her ample—and, Stadi assumed, _false_ —bosom. She held it out to Rollins, who took it sheepishly.

“Well?” She said, giving him a little swat with the fan. “You need help cracking that open, security man?”

Rollins laughed, but held up the little box and opened it. When he saw what was inside, he froze for a few breaths, then looked out into the audience, scanning the people.

Captain Cavit raised a glass. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Rollins finally turned the box around to show he audience. A single pip, the black and gold one used to denote a junior grade lieutenant, was pinned to the fabric.

The room cheered, and Cora Breach made a big show of pulling out the pin and then attaching it to Rollins’s uniform collar—which somehow required her to stroke most of his chest in the process. By the time the rank insignia was in place, Rollins was a distinctive shade of red.

“I present to you, _Lieutenant_ Scotty Rollins!” Cora Breach said. A round of applause and cheers passed through the room, and then Cora Breach leaned in closer. “Now get off my stage, Lieutenant. It’s time for me to sing.”

Rollins hopped down off the stage. Durst gave him a hug, and a few of the security crew shook his hand or clapped his shoulder.

On the stage, Cora Breach began a routine that seemed to involve her performing to pre-recorded music, miming a performance to match the lyrics. Stadi turned back to the bar, ready for a drink, and found Honigsberg sitting on one of the stools, grinning out over the crowd, a brown bottle in hand.

“What do you think?” He stroked his beard.

“We don’t have _anything_ like this on Betazed,” Stadi said.

“This Inn was an iconic piece of human history,” Honigsberg said. “People like me? Our fight started here.”

“Betazed never really needed that sort of movement.” Stadi considered. “There was a small clash on one of the minor continents during one of the monarchal rules that tried to assign morality to emotional attachment and having children, but it fizzled out pretty quickly.”

“I guess that’s what happenswhen everyone knows how everyone else feels and just respects it as a matter of course,” Honigsberg said. “It’s fine on Earth now, but for a long time, a significant part of humanity demonized queer people.”

“I remember reading about that in the Academy.” Stadi nodded. “I’m not sure everyone would agree with you about Betazoids always respecting each other’s thoughts and feelings, though—some families still do genetic bonding.”

Honigsberg shook his head.

“It’s a bit like arranged marriage,” Stadi said, remembering the closest human equivalent to the process. “Some of the old noble families still practice it. And that’s not ancient history. In fact, my mother would be the first to tell you I don’t respect her thoughts nearly enough on the subject.”

Honigsberg smiled. “That sounds like a story.”

“Another time, maybe,” Stadi said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Honigsberg said.

On the stage, Cora Breach was finishing her song, and her dress was growing brighter and brighter the longer she performed. Clearly, the performer ran with her theme.

Stadi frowned as the glow became almost too bright to look at.

“Alex, her dress isn’t _actually_ going to go critical, is it?”

*

Mira Carter eyed the three men standing in front of her and tried to make her brain come up with something useful.

It didn’t help that the security office made her feel like she was in a prison.

Cardassian architecture. Did anything else in the universe leech hope like it?

Commander Sisko, a human in Starfleet command red, with deep brown skin, and a direct gaze she found intimidating until he’d spoken with a soft, soothing voice, had introduced the other two: one, an oddly-smooth faced security officer in a Bajoran uniform was named Odo—his voice was far from comforting—and the other wore the gold of Starfleet security, a Lieutenant Commander Eddington, who as yet hadn’t said anything.

“The assailant made it back to his temporary quarters, but when was no longer there when we opened the doors. A sensor sweep showed evidence of a site-to-site transport,” Odo was saying, continuing to intimidate with his gravelly, odd voice. “Your purse wasn’t recovered. We managed to get a match on the image of him from security footage.”

Odo reached over and tapped the screen behind his desk. The image of an alien Mira didn’t recognize appeared on the screen.

“His name is Confal,” Odo said. “He’s a Boslic criminal with a half-dozen warrants for his arrest. Theft, mostly, though he isn’t above aggravated assault to get what he’s been hired to acquire.”

“Hired?” Eddington said.

“Yes, Confal hires himself out, and has a known group of associates.” Odo brought up four other faces on the screen. Another Boslic, a Napean, and a human appeared on the screen, all men.

Sisko, who hadn’t looked away from Mira Carter much at all, turned his attention back to her after a brief glance at the screen.

“Do you have any idea why these men would be targeting you? Were you carrying anything of value in your purse?”

She was spared having to answer by the arrival of Bashir and Girani, who came into the security office with worried frowns.

“We just heard,” Bashir said.

“Are you all right?” Girani said. “Do you need us to examine you?”

“I’m okay, just a little shaken,” Mira said, but then Odo cleared his throat.

“Doctors,” the odd man said. “Doctor Carter is unharmed, and this is an ongoing investigation.”

Mira saw Julian Bashir’s shoulders rise, setting in obstinacy, and realized he was about to defend her, and considered letting him do so. Then she saw the way Sisko was looking at her, and decided it wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m okay, Julian,” she said, and Bashir nodded, though he was still scowling at Odo. She turned to Sisko. “It… It might be because of some of my data.”

“Your data?” Sisko said.

Girani and Bashir exchanged an odd look. “For the Orkett’s treatment?” Bashir said.

Mira nodded, then took a breath, looking at Bashir and Girani. She didn’t much care what the others thought, but in the last few days, she’d come to really care about Bashir and Girnai and Onara.

Despite knowing better.

“My treatment was based on the data of twenty eight other bone marrow diseases born of mistreatment, exposure, and toxins.”

“Yes,” Girani said. “You mentioned that.”

“I didn’t always get permission for the records,” Mira Carter said.

“You stole medical records?” Bashir frowned, obviously surprised. She supposed he didn’t often think of young women as criminals.

“You think someone hired you to get these records back?” Odo said, sounding far from convinced. “Are they somehow valuable?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible there’s a profit to be made if you’re in the business of selling cures, but these diseases are caused by oppressive or violent situations and the victims are almost always second-class citizens at best.” Mira Carter shook her head. “But supervisors and government officials might also be embarrassed, or have become exposed themselves?”

“Some Cardassians did end up compromised by Orkett’s disease, commander,” Girani said. Her voice was soft, and she regarded Mira with an look Mira couldn’t decipher.

Was it disappointment?

“Why did you steal the records in the first place?” Eddington said. “I’m not sure I follow.”

She needed to give them more. It was dangerous, but it was clear all of these people wanted a tidier explanation, and if they didn’t find one, they’d only keep looking until they did.

“My father died of a bone marrow disease much like Orkett’s,” Mira said. She let every emotion she still so keenly felt play across her face, and Bashir and Girani, especially, softened. “Four years ago, when I was just beginning my research. I was too late for him. My understanding was limited by my data set, and after he died…” She shook her head. “I read a paper about a similar disease among the Nausicaans, and realized a cross-species analysis was a direction no one else had taken. But the Nausicaan government doesn’t reveal the scope of the environmental damage they allowed to happen on their world.”

“So you stole records?” Bashir said.

“Bought, in that case,” Mira Carter said. “But definitely not through official channels. It was the same for multiple other worlds. The Axanar, the Remans, the Acamarians…”

“ _Remans_?” Odo said, and she tried not to flinch when he repeated the word. “Confal’s group has been known to work with both Romulan and Reman handlers.”

“Can you give us a list?” Sisko said, clearly not pleased, but—she hoped—also convinced.

“I can,” Mira Carter said.

“I’d like to place Doctor Carter under guard,” Odo said.

“My work—” Mira started.

“Will continue,” Odo said, talking over her with his gravelly voice. “But your safety must be taken into account. If Confal was hired to recover medical data, and that data wasn’t in your purse, then you may still be a target.”

She knew full well Confal wasn’t looking for her medical data, but she nodded. “I understand.”

“For now, Doctor,” Sisko said. “I think it’s best if you limit yourself to the Infirmary and your quarters.”

Mira forced herself to look grateful.

“Let’s check you over, just to make sure,” Doctor Bashir said.

She let Bashir and Girani take her to the Infirmary, mostly just to get out of the security office. When he brought out his medical tricorder and scanned her, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You don’t rattle easily, do you?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t.” Her heart was racing, but his tricorder would never reveal that.

He closed the device. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Girani was watching her, too.

Mira took a breath. “I know what I did is technically a breach of confidentiality for so many sufferers on so many worlds and goes against protocols, but…I decided it didn’t matter as much as healing others. Those governments never cared for those they hurt. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize rolling out the treatment.” It was the truth, which made it so much easier to say. “I suppose that’s a moot point now.” She bit her lip. “Do you think Starfleet or the Bajorans will rescind their approval of the treatment?”

“Not if I can help it,” Bashir said, with a smile.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Girani said. “You’ve been fighting for people who were mistreated. If the people who mistreated them didn’t want you to know the truth of what happened to them, even to help them, to help others?” She shook her head. “It puts you on the right side of things, Doctor Carter.”

Mira had to close her eyes against tears. “Thank you.”

She reached up and touched her medallion, feeling the weight of it in her palm.

Just a little more time now.

*

_To: Reese, Patrick K. (PK-047-7523-NCT)_

_Sender: Honigsberg, Alexander N. (NS-260-4688-OOE)_

_Hello Reese;_

_If you’re reading this, then you’ve also just gotten the news that Voyager won’t be coming back from the Badlands any time soon. And you’re probably wondering why I’m writing you. The last time we spoke I definitely left you with the impression I didn’t much mind when you put forward the option of us not having to speak again, given how things had ended up between us. Again._

_Surprising no one, and least of all you I’m sure, I’ve changed my mind._

_You said I had a habit of pushing people away, of keeping things distant, light, and safe, and you were right. And I’m sorry for how I did exactly that every time we managed to have time together—time you were willing to include me in on your terms and mine._

_The irony of me now being seventy thousand light-years from you while I admit I didn’t know how to handle distance is not lost on me, but I do love a good joke._

_Even when it’s on me._

_It’s funny (and not funny) but when we first realized we were in the Delta Quadrant for the long term, I was one of the few not crushed when I thought of all the people I left behind. At least, not at first. My parents have each other, as do my brothers and sisters and their assorted spouses and children. I’ve been away from Earth for so long I had to sit down and really think about the last time I was there._

_My great-grandfather’s funeral, it turned out. Just after I graduated Starfleet Academy. Since then, my shore leaves have been on other worlds closer to wherever I was assigned._

_I mean, you know that. What with the whole how-we-met thing._

_But in the weeks since we’ve been here, I did start to realize I had someone I’d left behind, and more than once. You._

_It’s not fair of me to take this opportunity to get the last word in, either, but I’m sure it also won’t surprise you to learn I’m going to do it anyway. And so, two things: one is a request, the other is a promise._

_The promise is this: when Voyager gets back—and I will get back, even if it does take me a lifetime—I’m making room for you in my life, in whatever capacity you’ll have me, when we can. However we can._

_But the request is more important, and while it has got some of my ego attached to it, I hope you’ll hear everything I’m meaning when I ask: please don’t wait for me._

_If you find people worthy of those arms, grab hold. Like you said, on Starbase 375, in that holodeck program you made for me of the Stonewall Inn: no leashes on our hearts._

_(And yes, I remember that. I remember everything you said. Including the part about how I was terrified to give any part of myself to someone and while that’s also true I’ll have you know I gave someone an entire lung last month, so, hey: I’m making progress.)_

_All flippancy aside, Reese? I’m not a man prone to regret, but I wish I’d spent more time in your arms rather than worrying how I’d feel when they weren’t near, having lives with more time apart than together, and more freedom than I knew what to do with._

_Because I know the answer now, and the answer is pretty simple, really: I’d hold on and let go, just like you said we could do in the first place._

_And yes, this is me admitting you were right. Multiple times. In writing, no less. I honestly suggest you replicate this on paper and frame it for posterity. You can charge anyone who knows me to see it._

_I suppose it all comes down to this, really: I’m alive. I’m thinking of you. I’m further away than we ever considered. I miss you. I will continue to miss you. Especially your arms._

_I mean, the rest of you is also pretty great, but let’s be serious. Your arms, Reese, are basically a thing of beauty._

_Alex._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Reese. Those arms. 
> 
> Ahem, sorry. Uh, at this point I'm just basically enjoying Starfleet-officers-in-a-gay-bar, so hopefully the flippancy doesn't clash too much with the other storyline unfolding on DS9. I imagine everyone has figured it out, but it's fun to write regardless, and I think knowing as the reader can be fun when the other characters don't.
> 
> Promoting Ensign Rollins to Lieutenant is a scene I popped in as a nod to his promotion happening off-screen in Canon Voyager.


	5. Act IV

“If I could have your attention one more time?” Cavit’s voice cut through some of the noise after Cora Breach left the small impromptu stage area and the applause had died down.

Fitzgerald frowned. Aaron Cavit had a good poker-face, but it wasn’t perfect, whatever Cavit was about to say, Fitzgerald would have laid a significant bet he didn’t want to say it. The others didn’t seem to notice, Fitzgerald thought, though he changed his mind when he saw Ro looking at the Captain.

Ro Laren _definitely_ had a poker-face. But her shoulders were tight, and she was watching the crew, not the Captain.

Whatever was coming, she already knew.

Fitzgerald waited, and the room finally quieted down.

“I wanted to make sure we celebrated Lieutenant Rollins before I brought this up, so before I do, could we have one more round of applause?”

The room obliged, though now there was an edge to it.

Their newly minted lieutenant nodded at the Captain in thanks, and beside him Durst squeezed his arm. It was an affectionate gesture, and one of many the two men had made toward each other throughout the evening. Fitzgerald wondered if Rollins would be coming back to their quarters tonight, or if he might spend some time “working on the Aeroshuttle” with Durst.

“I have new information about Telek R’Mor,” Cavit said. The room went silent a second time. This was the man they’d all entrusted their letters to. Fitzgerald swallowed against a tightening in his throat.

Oh no.

“Telek R’Mor died in 2367. Four years ago,” Cavit said. “It is certainly possible he arranged for our letters to be distributed, or even handed them over to the Romulan Government, but it’s also possible they weren’t delivered.”

The silence in the room was joined by a stillness that robbed it of the warmth and joy it had held just moments earlier. Fitzgerald locked eyes with Zandra Taitt, who gave him a tight smile in return. Her composure was incredible, but he could see that even she had taken a hit.

 _Damn_.

He watched Cavit take a deep breath. “I know that’s the last thing we wanted to hear, but I didn’t want to keep it from you. Or the crew. I’m asking the senior staff to let their departments know, but please: be gentle.” Cavit turned his remarkably blue eyes on each of them in turn. As always, Fitzgerald felt exposed under their gaze. “It’s another disappointment,” he said. “And it feels like we’ve had too many of those lately. But we are still going home.” His voice regained an edge of something more declarative. “There will be other wormholes. Other chances.”

At that, Cavit nodded to the back of the room, and Cora Breach pulled her sequinned self back onto the stage. “I think that downer calls for a round of shots on the house, don’t you?”

Between the holographic patrons and the crew, some noise returned to the Inn.

Fitzgerald worked his way to Cavit. When he got there, Cavit managed a weaker smile than usual.

“Sorry, Jeff,” he said.

“You have a habit of apologizing for things you’re not responsible for,” Fitzgerald said.

“Way to kill the mood, Silver Daddy,” Zimin, the holographic Ktarian bartender said, sliding past the two with a tray of drinks in tiny glasses, pausing just long enough to hand one to each of them and then level a disappointed stare at Cavit. “And I was so ready to be a good boy.”

He left.

Cavit blinked. “ _Silver Daddy_?”

“No idea.” Fitzgerald shook his head. “Apparently there’s a whole lexicon. You’ll have to ask Honigsberg.”

Cavit lifted the drink to his nose and sniffed, then, raising one eyebrow, leaned over just far enough to put it carefully on the wooden bar. Holographic synthale or not, Fitzgerald had to agree after a sniff of his own, and did the same.

Fitzgerald noticed Cavit’s gaze roaming the room, clearly taking the measure of the crew, and he knew the man practically loaded their disappointment onto his own shoulders. And no matter how broad they were, it wasn’t his to bear.

He cleared his throat and leaned in. “It’s getting late. How about a coffee in the Mess Hall?”

Cavit’s blue eyes met his, even and unwavering, which meant Fitzgerald hadn’t fooled him at all. “You think I should give the crew some space,” Cavit said.

“I do,” Fitzgerald said. “But I also think I’d like some coffee.”

Cavit smiled, and finally nodded. “My treat. I’ve got two replicator rations saved.”

“Oh, in that case, we’re definitely leaving now,” Fitzgerald said, stepping past Cavit and backing towards the door of the Inn, cracking an amused grin. “Coming?”

Cavit laughed and followed, shaking his head, but at least his eyes weren’t doing that thing they did.

 _Success_ , Fitzgerald thought, then turned to lead the way.

Behind them, the party at the Stonewall Inn fell silent as they stepped first out on to the streets of holographic New York, passing some of the crew coming off shift and heading to the party. Likely the holodeck would be on all night. But not for them. Fitzgerald and Cavit passed through the Holodeck doors and back onto Voyager.

*

On the last day, Mira saw Voyager’s chief engineer just sitting down alone at the replimat on her walk back to her quarters, a plate of food and a drink in hand. Lieutenant Onara didn’t notice her see him, and she kept her reaction to herself. Voyager was leaving soon—it was down to hours now, though of course she didn’t have the exact time.

If she wanted to up her chances of success, this was it. This was her absolute last shot.

Just in case.

Was she being foolish? She had her original plan, but some part of her couldn’t help but imagine something might go wrong with what she’d already put in place, and if so…

She’d replicated another figurine last night, and done the rest of her work long into the morning hours. But it was ready, and it was in her pocket just in case she had an opportunity.

But with Lieutenant Onara at her side, she didn’t have that opportunity.

She lost sight of the replimat when they completed their arc around the promenade, and she let Onara lead her straight back to her quarters. He gave her a little nod as she stepped inside, but unlike the previous days, she didn’t draw out any conversation.

As soon as the door was closed, she started working. She knew her door was guarded, so she couldn’t just leave, but her purse hadn’t had every tool at her disposal, just most of them.

She pulled out the site-to-site transporter from where it was embedded in the handle of her suitcase and took a deep breath. There was only enough power for two transports, so she had to get it perfectly right.

And she had to hope the person she’d bought the device from hadn’t overpromised when he’d told her it wouldn’t trigger the station security protocols.

For a few heartbeats, she almost reconsidered. Everything she’d done so far, and everything she still had to do were in a delicate balance. She reached up and touched the pendant she wore. Everything was a risk. Eyed her personal terminal, and triple checked the files were still present. If something happened to her, the messages for Dr. Bashir, Dr. Girani, and Lieutenant Onara were all there. It should be enough.

She pulled a shawl from her clothes and wrapped it up and around her hair.

Surely, if something happened, one of those three would be a contingency…

She set the co-ordinates on the site-to-site transporter and twisted it before she could change her mind.

She materialized in the thankfully empty ‘fresher off the promenade—she’d chosen the furthest corner in the furthest stall, but it had still been a gamble—and exited the bathroom. It wasn’t far to the replimat, and while she could see Honigsberg was there, he’d now been joined by another officer, and they were talking.

It didn’t matter. She’d improvise if she needed to.

She’d almost crossed the distance when she saw a man step out from the replimat, coming from behind the two Starfleet officers. He was human, and something about him struck her as familiar, though also unfamiliar. Like someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.

He was tall, and blond, and wore a short beard…

She stopped walking. It was the beard that did it. He hadn’t had one in the image she’d seen of him in Odo’s office. It was the human working who worked with the Boslic who’d attacked her.

He stared right at her.

She turned away, reaching into her pocket for her site-to-site transporter, and bumped headlong into a broadly-built Napean.

“Hand it over,” he said. “And you can go free, and no one gets hurt.”

How had they tracked her? How had they known she’d left her quarters at all?

He smiled, and tapped his temple.

She realized now. Napeans were empathic. They must have had him close enough to her quarters to sense her presence.

Her hand found the site-to-site transporter in her pocket, she gripped it.

The Napean frowned. “Whatever that plan is you’re thinking about, I’d suggest not doing it.”

“How are we doing?” This new voice was from behind her. The human, she assumed. She didn’t look.

“We’re fine,” the Napean said, his voice jarringly conversational and pleasant. “I think we have an understanding.”

“I don’t know what you want,” she said.

“Never lie to an empath,” the Napean said. “It demeans everyone involved.”

Mira swallowed. She had the contingencies, but they were copies. Not the real thing. Easily dismissed, easily discarded.

“I’ll scream,” she said.

“No you won’t,” the Napean said.

Something sharp pressed into her back.

She turned and looked. They were tucked to the side of the Promenade, and despite people walking past them, the Napean’s smile looked anything but predatory, and the human standing so close behind her probably looked familial. He could have been her husband.

Fooling an empath was impossible, but Mira knew emotions weren’t thoughts. She allowed herself to feel the very real defeat in the moment—because this was defeat in a very real sense—and so, when she closed her hands around the site-to-site transporter, the Napean probably only felt how sad she was that she wasn’t going to see the thing she’d spent four years working on come to fruition.

He probably assumed that meant she was going to hand over what they wanted.

In truth, she was preparing to die for it.

She twisted the device, and the Napean scowled. “No!”

Hot, sharp pain lanced into her from behind, even as the device beamed her back to her quarters. A hot wash of blood flowed freely down her back as, between blinks, the Napean vanished and her quarters returned.

She tried to call out to the computer, but her voice gurgled and her lungs felt liquid. She managed on a third try.

“Carter to Infirmary…” she said, and finally heard the chirp of the computer opening a channel.

“Yes, doctor?” It was one of the nurses.

“Hurt… I… hurt…”

She looked up at the ceiling, and realized she didn’t remember falling down.

“Doctor?”

She tried to speak again, but a bubble of green blood popped on her lips. She touched it with one hand, and almost laughed.

That would certainly give the game away.

Mira Carter sank into oblivion.

*

_To: Genestra, Alisse O. (Janara, Gatan Province, Betazed, 9F8W7X-SPC; Janaran Sanctuary)_

_Sender: Stadi, Veronica K. (CA-963-3055-OCC)_

_Hi Lisse;_

_By now you’ve probably already heard about Voyager, given mother’s connections in Starfleet’s diplomatic circles, and I realize I’ve probably opened you up to one of her famous martyr treatments by writing you instead of her, but I’ve got limited time to write a letter before our opportunity to pass those letters on could vanish forever, and the person I wanted to reach out to the most was you._

_Obviously, don’t show this letter to my mother. Or, on the other hand, if you end up having to: Mother? Do not be angry with Lisse. I’m fine. You raised me to be fine. Yes I miss you. Yes I love you. Now, stop reading, because this letter isn’t for you._

_We both know that won’t work, but I can dream, Lisse._

_And right now, I’ve got nothing but dream. I miss everyone, especially my best friend, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in some way doing what I always dreamed of doing:_ flying _. Voyager is an amazing ship—she proved that just by surviving how we got here—and every time I take my station, I feel that deep sense of being where I’m meant to be._

_You know the feeling I’m talking about, because we talked about it before I left for Earth._

_And I also know you weren’t feeling that way._

_It’s probably not fair of me to do this from the other side of the galaxy, and even less so because we can’t hash it out the way we always do when we hit a problem with no obvious solution, but Lisse? I think it’s time you went after your dream. I know your father is proud of you, and I know you do amazing work at the Sanctuary, but I also know—we_ both _know—that you haven’t been the same since Andrus left, and given everything that happened to him…_

_Look. We both know the reasons why your father didn’t want you to chase after him, and your grandfather’s views on appropriate matches, but when I passed through Deep Space Nine, I saw Andrus—he came up from Bajor and met me for dinner._

_He was well, Lisse. Truly. He was his old self again. No matter what your father and grandfather may have told you, Andrus is well._

_And the first thing he did was oh-so-casually ask me how you were doing._

_I’m pretty sure they have positions for all sorts of science advisors on the agrobiology expedition he’s on. You’ve got the background, and it’s going to take them years to help Bajor recover from the Cardassians._

_Go dream. And if it annoys your father or your grandfather? Well, Sabin could use some annoying if you ask me._

_And please do that thing you do where you take pictures of all the new plants you find._

_You can tell me all about them when I get back._

_Roni._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver Daddy. Snerk.


	6. Act V

“Well hello there, big blue bear,” Cora Breach said. “Woof!” Her voice, tied to the microphone, echoed through the whole of the bar.

Rollins turned to see a very confused Crewman Cing’ta having just arrived at the Inn, along with Li-Paz, Kalita, Santos and a few of the other night shift crewmen and Ensign Jenkins. They were all fresh-faced and in uniform, and soon the group of new arrivals were laughing at the large Bolian’s obvious confusion.

It was nice to see them laughing. Captain Cavit’s update about Telek R’Mor had definitely knocked them all back a bit. He imagined most of the night shift had heard by now.

“Wait, what time is it?” Rollins said, leaning over to Durst.

Durst paused in their dancing long enough to nod at the analog clock over the bar, which advertised something called “Absolut.” Rollins hadn’t realized just how late it was getting. The night shift were dropping by before they started for the day. He’d normally be asleep by now, given he had the morning shift ahead of him.

“Congratulations, _lieutenant_ ,” Cing’ta said, having made his way to Rollins. Rollins wasn’t used to looking up at many people, being quite tall himself, but he looked up at the large Bolian and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. He enjoyed working with Cing’ta, who had taken to the rules and regulations and protocols of Starfleet much more naturally than most of the Maquis who’d ended up in security.

“Just so you know,” Cing’ta said. “Ensign Parsons is scheduled for the morning shift. Commander Ro made the change about an hour ago. It seems you have the day off, lieutenant.”

Rollins blinked, surprised. “She didn’t have to—”

“It’s a Starfleet tradition,” Lan said, coming up alongside Cing’ta. “When my previous host, Dolay was promoted to junior lieutenant, he got the day off, too.”

“Really?” Rollins turned to Durst, not quite sure he believed this.

Durst waved a hand. “Sort of true. I got the day off when I made junior lieutenant. When I made full lieutenant, on the other hand, my next shift started with me working a triple rerouting the Lakota’s plasma injectors.”

“Which you no doubt enjoyed,” Rollins said.

“Guilty.” Durst winked.

Over the last few weeks, if there was one thing he’d become sure about, it was how much Pete Durst liked to work. Their free time together had often been spent inside the Aeroshuttle, where Durst was trying to get the auxiliary craft up to Starfleet standards—or at least, capable of launching. Many components of the propulsion systems hadn’t been delivered before they left Deep Space Nine, and Durst had been working with parts from the Li Nalas for the most part, in between replacing and upgrading the shuttlepods into shuttlecraft. 

But he still made time to find Rollins, share meals with him, and on a recent late-night visit to the Aeroshuttle, even a picnic on the Aeroshuttle’s small bridge.

Durst might be one of the most dedicated engineers Rollins had ever met, but he definitely had a romantic streak, too.

As if on cue, the music shifted from the uptempo to something softer and more romantic.

“Want to take a spin, woofy?” a burly holographic man asked Cing’ta.

“Only if you’ll explain why people keep barking at me,” Cing’ta said.

“Aw,” the man said, pulling him away. “First time?”

Lan shared a bemused glance with Durst and Rollins, then nudged Rollins in the small of his back. “Go dance, you two,” the Trill said. “It’s clear you want to.”

Rollins could feel his face burning, but when he turned to look at Durst, the man opened his arms, and Rollins stepped closer, taking his hands and standing close. He caught himself thinking about the letter he’d written home to his brother Emmett, and how Captain Cavit had told them all it probably hadn’t arrived, but tried not to let it intrude on the moment.

He’d mentioned Durst in that letter, thinking it would make his brother feel better if he hinted he wasn’t completely on his own.

Now they were dancing, he kind of wished he could re-write it, and be clearer. Tonight, it felt like they’d crossed past something he’d hinted about in his letter into something more.

Maybe he should have mentioned the little dent in Pete Durst’s chin.

Oh yeah, he was a goner, as Emmett would undoubtedly say.

When the song finished, Rollins pulled back, and smiled. “I may not have to work tomorrow, but you do.” He didn’t want the evening to end, but he also didn’t want Durst exhausted on his shift.

“Share my turbolift?” Durst said.

They left together, Rollins shaking hands and accepting congratulations all the way out, then pausing at the door to the recreation of the iconic Inn. He tried to imagine what it might have been like to have had places like this back in its day. Not out of convenience for finding the like-minded, but out of a need for safety.

He couldn’t quite get there, but a kind of yawning gratitude filled him as he watched the holographic patrons dancing and laughing amidst his fellow crew.

In the turbolift, he realized he’d been lost in his thoughts and glanced over to see Durst was staring at him rather intently.

“What?” Rollins said.

Durst leaned in, placed one hand on the side of Rollins’s neck, and kissed him, pulling him in gently. Rollins returned the kiss in kind at first, then pressed forward enough to make it perfectly clear how welcome it was.

They broke apart just before the turbolift doors opened.

“Just wanted to be sure,” Durst said.

“Right,” Rollins said. He knew he had what Emmett called his “smile set to stunned” going on, but he couldn’t help it.

“I think,” Durst said, then pausing to clear his throat and swallowing before starting again. “I think maybe the next thing we could work on on the Aeroshuttle should be the crew bunks?”

Rollins opened his mouth, still grinning, trying to find something flirty to say in return, but the turbolift doors closed on Durst’s soft little smile, and carried Rollins off to his own deck.

*

Mira drifted back to consciousness, and though an effort of sheer will forced herself to lie still, waiting. There were voices all around her.

“Why would a Romulan be working to cure a Bajoran disease? And what about the package on the Nash?”

It was the gravelly-voiced security man again, Odo.

And they knew about the Nash.

Her heart sank. Had she ruined everything?

“She’s coming around.” Bashir spoke his time.

He’d noticed her readings, then. There was no point pretending any longer. Mira opened her eyes.

It wasn’t just Odo and Bashir present, but Commander Sisko as well. And Lieutenant Onara, and the Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet gold, whose name escaped her. 

“Welcome back,” Bashir said, stepping closer to the biobed. It wasn’t an entirely warm greeting.

She shifted, but quickly realized how restricted her movements were.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “The knife perforated your lung, but I’ve repaired the damage. Once I located the chip projecting false readings of a healthy human woman and removed it, of course.”

“I’m restrained,” she said. Her voice came out somewhere between Mira Carter and… someone else. She’s supposed there was no reason to continue to play the role of Mira, but she found herself surprised she couldn’t quite remember how to speak as, well, _herself_.

“Until we’re sure we know why you’re here and what your plans are, yes,” Sisko said.

“I’m not here to do any harm,” she said. “I promise you that.” She wished she could see even a single screen clearly. All she needed was a time-stamp. How long was she unconscious?

Had she managed to throw them off long enough?

“Except you don’t exist,” Odo said. “So it’s hard to take your promise seriously. _Doctor Mira Carter_ is a false identity. A good one, but a false one. According to my investigation, she only actually appears to exist three years ago.”

She let him speak, meeting his eyes and giving him nothing in return.

“But where I’m lost,” Odo said. “Is in the journey your Doctor Mira Carter persona took once she appeared. She seems to have appeared out of thin air… to do _research_ into _bone marrow_ diseases. _Especially_ Orkett’s disease. A disease almost exclusively found among Bajorans.”

“We know your treatment works,” Bashir said. “We’ve seen it already in the first batches. You worked on it for years, and you’ve been perfecting the sequencing for nearly six months, according to your reports. Odo had me look again, and about an hour ago I noticed the truth.”

Mira swallowed.

“You haven’t made a single notable change in the last six months you didn’t already know about ahead of time. Your actual success happened half a year ago, but you held onto it. Fabricated problems, then solved them. For six months.”

“Which led me to consider why a Romulan might pose as a human doctor doing humanitarian aid for Bajor—and then wait until _now_ to present a functional treatment for Orkett’s disease she already had six months ago,” Odo said.

She waited, but it wasn’t Odo who spoke next.

“Voyager.” The anger in Lieutenant Onara’s voice finally threatened to breach her composure. “You’ve been interested in her since she arrived. You timed submitting your final research so you could be here when Voyager arrived.”

They knew. Mira lifted her gaze to Onara’s, trying to read the man—and trying to apologize to him, too—but he was giving nothing away.

“We contacted the Nash and had them check your movements. You requested access to your materials in transit, and but according to the records, you tampered with five containers on the Nash,” Sisko said. “You only brought four containers with you for your research. We’re assuming the fifth was something to be delivered to Voyager.”

“It wasn’t an explosive,” she said, hating the waver in her voice. “I would never hurt any of the people on Voyager. I just wanted to have more than one contingency, just in case.”

“Just in case _what_? Contingencies for _what_? You keep saying you mean no harm, but you’ve come onto my station with a false identity—you’re a _Romulan_ —and you’ve lied to all of us. Why should I _believe_ you?” Sisko said, his voice rising on the end of the question and deepening with anger.

She turned her head, rolling it as far as she could to the left. The biobed display was visible if she really worked to see, and there, at the top, the station time was listed.

She’d been out for the better part of a station day.

“It’s too late to call Voyager back,” she said, letting her head fall back onto her pillow. The relief she felt was bone-deep. 

“We’ve tried hailing her,” Sisko’s voice was even deeper than before. “But we can’t get a signal into the Badlands. But if you’ve done anything to that ship, I promise you we will—”

“My pendant,” Mira said. “Do you have my pendant? I need my pendant.”

“You are in no position to make demands,” the lieutenant commander said. “If you’ve aided the Maquis, the only thing in your future is a jail cell.”

“No.” She tried to shake her head, tears of relief filling her eyes. “No, I’m not with the Maquis. Please. Check my pendant. There’s a panel. Open it.”

Bashir eyed Sisko. “Sir?”

Sisko gave him a sharp nod, clearly irritated. “Scan it first.”

Bashir stepped away, returning a moment later with the pendant in hand and a tricorder.

The lieutenant commander took it, then scanned it. “It reads as a solid lump of hematite,” he said.

“It’s like my biosign chip,” she said. “Behind the clasp.”

The man turned the pendant over and pulled away the small covering on the back of the clasp, and revealing the chip designed to give off the false reading. He scanned it, carefully deactivated the chip, then scanned the pendant again, this time nodding. “It’s a false reading. The pendant is hollow and…” He frowned. “There’s a Starfleet standard isolinear chip inside.”

“It’s just letters,” Mira Carter said. “Letters from Voyager to their loved ones.”

“ _What_?” Sisko said.

“Please,” she said, her tears flowing freely now. “Just _read_ them. You’ll understand.”

“Use a closed PADD,” Sisko said. “I don’t want anything from that chip to gain access to our computer.”

Bashir nodded, pulling a PADD from a nearby shelf. The lieutenant commander found the opening mechanism for the pendant, and handed him the chip from inside.

Bashir slid the chip into the PADD and eyed the result.

“It’s a crew manifest, with a casualty list and personal letters,” Bashir said, his eyes flicking up first to her, then to Sisko, then back to the screen of the PADD. He kept reading. “Oh… my God.” He handed the PADD to Sisko, who took it and read.

She waited, knowing full well what the crew manifest and first notes from Captain Cavit revealed: where Voyager was, and how, and—in the case of these letters— _when_. Finally, Sisko lowered the PADD and looked at her.

“Who _are_ you?” he said.

“You’ll deliver their letters?” she said.

“If they check out.” Sisko held up the PADD. “If this chip is real, then yes. I will personally see these letters are delivered.”

Mira exhaled. She wouldn’t have to try anything else. This would be enough. No more contingencies, no more back-ups…

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said.

And began.

*

_To: Fitzgerald, Penelope A. (DR-268-3017-AC2)_

_Sender: Fitzgerald, Jeffrey R. (MJ-030-3011-OSM)_

_Hello Great Aunt Pen;_

_Well, Admiral, I imagine the report of Voyager’s location will cross your desk before this does, and given that I know Aaron Cavit is adding a crew manifest and update to these letters, I assume you’ve already seen the “WIA” status on my file. Don’t worry. I’m the one who put it there._

_The short version—and there’s only time for a short version, I’m afraid—is my left hand is more-or-less shot from a “performing surgery” point of view, and likely to be until we either get home or until we bump into someone in this quadrant capable of… well, giving me a hand._

_I’m sorry. But you had to know there’d be at least one Fitzgerald joke in here somewhere._

_Aunt Pen, with as much emphasis as I can summon into a single letter, I want you to please make sure that all the families of Voyager’s crew understand we are okay. We are striving to come home. This particular opportunity didn’t work out as we wanted it to, but at least it let us reach out to you to let you all know where we are._

_We’ve lost people, and I know you know what that can do to a ship. And to lose our Captain was a huge blow, but Aaron Cavit has stepped up in every way. And the Maquis crew are… well, honestly, they’ve also been incredible, to say we’ve basically asked them to join Starfleet with no warning and no training._

_I imagine that part won’t be presented as well in the Federation News Service, but it’s true, and I trust you can ensure the Maquis now with us will get the courtesy of the truth._

_I also want you to know your latest package had arrived at Deep Space Nine in time for our launch, so I have Great Uncle Patrick’s latest book. Please tell him I intended to ration it, but instead read it the first two weeks we were here, and I hadn’t the foggiest who the murderer was, so his streak continues unbroken. I treasure it, as I treasure all his books, to be loaned only to the most trusted._

_Please pass on my love to everyone else in the Fitzgerald clan, and let them know I’m thinking of all of them._

_Oh, and though I know nepotism is looked down upon in the Admiralty, but if you wouldn’t mind using all your influence to, I don’t know, get all those science and engineering divisions to come up with a wormhole generator or something, I wouldn’t argue._

_I’m sorry. Two Fitzgerald jokes in one letter is probably too many, isn’t it?_

_Let’s pretend I was being serious, then._

_All my love,_

_Jeff._

*

Once he’d changed into his sleeping shorts, Cavit stepped into his bathroom and eyed the bathtub for a few seconds, considering. He hadn’t used it yet, and given the ship’s power reserves it wasn’t something in his immediate future, but the bathtub itself stood as another reminder of just how much these quarters had never been intended to be his. He’d never have asked for a bathtub. He preferred a shower.

He washed his face then headed to his bed, looking out at the streaks of stars at warp before climbing into his bed. He thought for a moment about reading more of the book Jeff had loaned him, but then changed his mind.

“Computer, lights off.”

Darkness fell.

Or _almost_ did.

He frowned, lifting up on one elbow, catching something blinking through the entrance to the bedroom. He squinted, not sure what it was, then slid back out from under the covers and went to the opening.

The light was coming from the furthest of the two shelves behind the desk. He crossed over with only the starlight and the blinking object to guide him, stepping behind his desk.

It was a book. The spine of the bound mystery novel Jeff had loaned him was lit up and blinking like it was some sort of light. He pulled it from the shelf, tracing it with his finger. It felt like the regular spine of a book, but there was a single green circle blinking on the spine.

He reached down to his desk, activating the comm on his monitor. “Cavit to Fitzgerald. Are you still awake?”

“Just,” the man’s voice came a moment later, a breath shy of groggy.

“The book you loaned me, did you know it had a light installed in the spine?”

“Beg your pardon?”

Cavit frowned. “It just lit up. It’s blinking.”

“I’m on my way.”

Cavit sat at his desk, pulling out his tricorder from the drawer and scanning the book. By the time he’d discounted any danger—no explosives, no fuses—and gotten over being embarrassed for his initial paranoia, he was still left with a mystery.

The door chimed.

“Come in,” he said.

Fitzgerald wore a simple sleeveless shirt and drawstring sleeping pants, though he’d put on socks and shoes for the trip, he stopped just short of Cavit’s desk, as if unsure where to go now he was in the room.

It felt oddly intimate. Cavit held up the book, showing him the blinking light on the spine.

“That’s never happened before,” Fitzgerald said.

“It wasn’t active,” Cavit said. “It’s a message projector, embedded in the spine. It looks like it had a timer, and I don’t see any signs of anything more complicated than that.”

Fitzgerald took the book with his right hand, turning it spine-up. “What do you think?”

“I think your author great-uncle put a hidden message in his book for you.”

“I’m surprised,” Fitzgerald said. “It’s really not his style. I’m sorry it woke you.”

“Don’t worry, I hadn’t fallen asleep yet,” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald tapped the spine awkwardly with his left index finger—Cavit hadn’t noticed, but he wasn’t wearing his neural assistance rig. The book chimed, once, and then above the spine, a woman’s face appeared. The projection was very simple, monochromatic silver light, and translucent. But she was human, brunette, and youthful, and she smiled into the space between them.

“Hello,” the recording said.

“You know her?” Cavit said

Fitzgerald shook his head.

“If you’re seeing this, I have good news. My name is Kerita R’Mor, and despite my appearance right now, I’m the daughter of Telek R’Mor, a man who, from your point of view, you met recently.”

Fitzgerald turned to him eyes wide. “His _daughter_?”

“We talked about her,” Cavit said.

“Your Captain Cavit had a profound effect on my father,” the hologram continued, as if it had heard him speak. “When the Romulan Government made it clear they had no intention of forwarding your letters to your families, he arranged other plans of his own. But he died, four years before he could put his plans in motion, of a bone marrow disease.” She swallowed. “He knew he wasn’t going to survive. So he left me the original isolinear chip of your letters among his belongings in my inheritance, with a request I honour your wishes, and when I realized the risk he’d taken in doing so, I… read them. I’m sorry for infringing on your privacy, but my father’s choice to defy our government for Federation _strangers_ had me confused at first. But as I read them, I remembered how his own letters home to my mother and I began after what he called a conversation he’d had with ‘someone from far away.’”

She paused, clearly needing a moment to collect herself.

“I realized how much he felt he owed you. How much we both owed you. My father was a brilliant man, and he did everything in his power to let me know I was cherished and loved, and he credited your Captain as the person who made him realize what distance could do to a family. I hope knowing your friends and families will receive your letters— _did_ receive your letters—is some small comfort.”

She paused, a small smile playing for the holo-recording.

“I do apologize for vandalizing the spine of your book, Doctor Fitzgerald, but I wanted to leave this message somewhere I knew it would be found. When Voyager gets home, if I am able, I will reach out to you all again. I’d love to meet all of you, and hear about the time my father became the first Romalan to visit the Delta Quadrant.”

The recording ended.

The two men stood there in silence for a few breaths.

“They know,” Cavit said, his whole body filling with a rush of hope. “They know we’re okay.”

“You should take that to the bridge,” Fitzgerald said, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell the night shift. Have it ready for the morning, too.”

Cavit nodded, and started for the door. He couldn’t believe it. It had worked after all.

“Aaron,” Fitzgerald said, holding up a hand and stopping him.

“What?” Cavit said.

“Maybe put on a shirt first?” Fitzgerald said.

Cavit looked down, realizing he was still only in the shorts he slept in. “Right. Not my best look.” He shook his head, his thoughts still spinning and headed for his bedroom. As he stepped through, he caught Fitzgerald mumbling something quietly to himself, and paused just past the archway.

He could have sworn the man said, “I enjoyed it.”

Cavit smiled, and reached for a shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, a different take on 'Eye of the Needle,' and this time with a more hopeful resolution. I'm going to spend some time thinking about how that will spin out the events of the "pathfinder" project (or whatever this alternate timeline version might be called) given the knowledge of Voyager being okay comes years earlier, but I imagine most of the day-to-day for Voyager wouldn't change. 
> 
> Rollins was another character it always made me sad didn't come back. I mean, not just because he's cute (but hello Scott MacDonald) but because Voyager had such a habit of showing us a character once (or twice) and then poof, they were gone. At least we know he ended up as a lieutenant at some point. 
> 
> I'm still pondering an alternate approach to 'Ex Post Facto.' See you soon, and I hope you're enjoying!


End file.
